


porcelain dolls & spearmint

by harrystaco



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Counselor Louis, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mysophobia, Top Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrystaco/pseuds/harrystaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. Touch a doorknob</p><p>2. Let other people touch my things</p><p>3. Buy a book at a bookstore</p><p>4. Hold the straps on a train</p><p>5. Eat at a restaurant</p><p>6. Shake hands with someone with bare hands</p><p>7. Carry other people's things without disinfecting them</p><p>8. Drink after someone else</p><p>9. Let someone else into my room</p><p>10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just for fair warning, this story is based off a manga called Ten Count. I did not fill this in because I did not have the required information at the time of posting this. I am aware that these are identical but please don't attack me. I give full credit to the author of Ten Count, Takarai Rihito, but this is also all my own writing-I've taken the manga and written it in story form. This has taken a lot of work and I'd appreciate it if you did not send me hateful messages because of this. I claim no rights to this and this is a full disclosure that I own nothing but the details. Thank you. (If you have required information for the 'inspired work' section, then please send that information to me. Again, thank you.)

"P-Please wait!" I yelled, sighing in relief as the young male paused his hand where it was raised to the elevator buttons. I took deep breaths as I slowed to a stop, trying to refill my lungs as I panted. When I was able to breathe normally again I looked up with slightly disheveled hair and flushed cheeks. 

"I am Simon Cowel's secretary, Harry Styles," I spoke quietly, holding out a business card for our advertising company. I noticed the male's cold blue eyes darting down to the white gloves that protected my hands before he glanced up into my own eyes.

Silently, the male reached out and took the card, reading it to himself before looking back at me.

"U-Um," I stuttered at the questioning look he was giving me, "Please allow us to thank you properly for your service today. We would like to-"

"Do you have mysophobia?" The male suddenly asked, looking up at me from under his sandy fringe as he pointed to the gloves I was wearing. I quickly dropped my hands and looked down, staring at my feet awkwardly.

How could he tell so soon? No ones ever picked that up- "It seems really bad. Have you consulted a doctor?" The male asked, looking at me with genuinely concerned eyes. "Anyway, I already told you that I don't need to be thanked for something like this. I simply pulled him out of the street."

I couldn't get it out of my head though. How could he say such a thing when he's just met me? Does he not have manners? Can he not keep his thoughts to himself?

"How can you say it's really bad when you've just met me?" I ask, ignoring everything he's just said. Who does he think he is? Telling me I need to consult a doctor. I'm perfectly fine and content the way I am!

"You have blood," the male whispered, his voice was suddenly soft and wary, "seeping through your gloves at the seams. I figured it was from washing your hands so much that they're chapped."

I looked down at my hands and took a shaky breath, "I-It's fine, really. I don't need to be fixed." I whispered quietly, clenching my hands into fists and feeling the chapped skin of my hands break. I shivered.

The male discarded my look and glanced up at the ceiling as if considering ways to response, "If you got treatment soon, I'm sure-"

"This is really none of your business!" I snapped suddenly and then my eyes widened at my unprofessional outbursts. I don't know why I yelled at him over such trivial things and when I looked up, the male was looking at me with a slight tilt of his head. I stutter an apology and then bite my lip harshly, "Please contact the number on the card so we can thank you properly." I say quickly and close my eyes, hoping that this day would just be over. I don't know why it bothered me so much. I've never been ashamed of who I was or my disorder.

After visiting with Dr. Cowel for another hour to discuss the rearrangement of his schedule, I tell my driver to take me home. I walk to my apartment with thoughts buzzing around in my skull. Who was this guy? How did he know so much just by a single glance? It has bothered me all day; making me uncomfortable and unfocused.

I unlocked the door to my apartment and step inside, closing the door behind me. I quickly undress from my suit and lay the folded clothes in the basket so I can send them to laundry before walking inside and changing into my informal clothes. I peel off my gloves and discard them in the trash bin before washing my hands with rubbing alcohol in the sink. 

I can't stop this behavior. I take one step outside and all these unpleasant things happen to my body if I don't feel properly cleansed. 

Observing the chapped skin of my hands, I am numb to the feeling of pain that alcohol can inflict on a wound. As I've said, I cannot stop this behavior.

I think back to the male from before with his golden brown hair and icy blue eyes. The way he read me like an open book. I've never felt more exposed in my life and I think that's why I became so defensive. I hang my head in despair. He'll never contact the company now that I've said such things to him.

Also, for the first time in my life I think maybe he's right. Today, during Dr. Cowel's accident, I could have easily reached out and pulled him back into the car with me. However, I hesitated because I was afraid to touch to him. I was afraid to grab onto his suit and save his life. Had that male not been there, neither would Dr. Cowel. I hate myself because of this, yet it wasn't a lie when I said I was fine.

I am fine—content with my life the way it is. I'm content with this bubble of cleanliness that I've created for myself. I never felt the need to be cured but on days like these when my disorder has stopped me from doing things I so desperately want but cannot do, it becomes hard to breathe.

I think back to the memories of my childhood. I used to hold hands with my father everywhere we went. Every time I reached for his hand he would chuckle in that deep voice and smile down at me, "Don't you think it gets a little hot holding hands all the time?" I would just shake my head and hold onto two of his fingers like a lifeline.

I shivered at the memories and rubbed at the tears threatening to fall. I hated thinking about those times, about the cause of all this.

My phone began to ring and I looked at the name. Home appeared on the screen and my heart clenched inside my chest. I really am starting to hate myself.

I clicked ignore before grabbing the alcohol. I had to sanitize.

 

I had a free hour for lunch so I decided to take a walk around London. Even after living here for five years I've never actually explored. I never bought things from stores, never ate food prepared anywhere but my home and certainly never rode the train. I had a driver for traveling.

I don't know how but in my midst of circling around I had found myself at a Psychiatric Facility. I stared at the sign for a long time, listening to the thoughts in my head. I think a psychiatrist might be going a little overboard—like I said I'm content in this way of life and I'm not so sure that I need to change as of right now.

When I finally convince myself to move I turn away and my breath catches in my throat as a bicycle tire screeches to a stop an inch from my feet. I take a small step back before looking up and losing all train of thought.

The male from yesterday at the hospital who so rudely suggested there was something wrong with me and that I needed to get treatment. His hair was now slicked back into a swirled quiff and he looked much more formal than he had yesterday. I swallowed at the way his white button up clung to his chest and arms, the sleeves rolled up to quarter length.

"Ah," I let out a small noise as the male looked up at me, his eyes widening just slightly to let me know he was as surprised as I was before he went back to his formal composure, "You're from...yesterday." I whispered.

I watched as the man got off his bike and tied it to a pole in front of the psychiatric building. "Um...thank you for yesterday, again." I said quietly, referring to when he saved my boss's life. I couldn't help but wonder what this man had to do with psychiatric treatment.

When the man finally stood up and turned to look at me properly, I realized that we were around the same height but the way he carries himself made me feel much smaller in comparison. I felt that familiar and unwelcome feeling of vulnerability with him.

"Could it be that you've decided to get your mysophobia treated?" The man asked and tilted his head at me with a kind look in his eyes. I noticed that he hadn't shaved because his facial hair seemed to be growing out.

"Do you get treatment here as well?" I asked, avoiding the answer to his question because I wasn't sure of it myself. Was I going to get treated? 

The man gave me a weird look before holding up the ID card around his neck, "No, I'm a counselor here." He said gently and I narrowed my eyes at the way he spoke to me. It was too...kind, too patient and I felt as though he was patronizing me. Treating me like a client who he needed to talk to like a six year old.

It didn't sink in for a minute but when it did my eyes widened and I gripped my work bag tightly under my arm. I could feel my skin aching underneath my gloves. I remembered how I had yelled at him less than twenty four hours ago and my face heated with embarrassment. God, I'm such an idiot. Of course he was a counselor, no normal person would have come to such an easy conclusion just from my gloves.

"A-As I thought, I'll just be heading home then!" I babbled before quickly turning and making a beeline down the sidewalk. I only made it a few feet before a hand suddenly darted in front of me and I let out one hell of a screech when I thought his hand was going to come in contact with me.

The man moved in front of me and looked at me as I tried to get my heart rate under control. I've just made a complete fool of myself and he's probably laughing at me on the inside.

"Don't worry," the man mused, "I wasn't going to touch you." He dipped his head to look at me and tilted his head as if to appear more friendly and inviting. I clenched my suit over my heart, staring at the ground with wide eyes. Why is this happening to me? I didn't want to be saved. I didn't want to be fixed or cured or whatever this guy has in mind. I've never even considered the possibility so why now?

"I know that it must have taken a lot of courage for you to come to this facility. So...if you'd like, would you talk to me for a bit outside?" He asked in that sweet voice and it pumped in my ears and through my body, tracing its way through my veins and making me tremble with fear. Why did he have such an effect on me?

 

We walked to a small cafe about two blocks from the facility. We got a secluded table off by the window and ordered to ice coffees. I would dream of drinking one though—those glasses, no matter how many times they've been washed, are still contaminated and covered in filth. 

"Are you okay with restaurants?" Louis asked, having told the barista his name. He watched me curiously, eyeing me over his cup of coffee.

"Um, not really," I admitted quietly, "usually when I got out with friends I don't eat." I glanced at Louis and shivered at the emotionless expression he was wearing. I don't get it. How can this unsociable man be a counselor? I tremble just looking at him.

"I see." Louis mutters quietly, dropping a sugar cube into his coffee and stirring it gently. This has become a sort of awkward situation, at least for me. Louis seems content to sit in silence.

"I know this may be sudden," I stand corrected then, "But can I ask you a few questions?" Louis asks and I nod, turning away from him when he looks me in the eye. He makes my head feel hot. I fiddle with my hands in my lap, watching the seams of my gloves like they're the most interesting thing in the world.

"Yes." I murmur.

Louis taps the rim of his glass and I flinch physically. "But before I ask them, just know that you don't have to answer any question you don't feel comfortable with. Okay?" 

I nod in understanding. "Okay."

"Have you sought treatment or counseling before?"

"No."

"Have you ever tried to cure yourself?"

I pause for a moment, "I always thought that I was fine the way I am, so no..." I explain thoughtfully, "I used to think about reading self-help books but I could never bring myself to take one of the books home from the store." 

Louis gives me a look like he wants me to explain further so I do. "I couldn't stand the thought of someone having touched them before me."

"I see," Louis drawls and I bite down on my bottom lip. He pulls out a notepad and begins to write down some notes before glancing back up at me. "Are there any other actions that you are reluctant to preform?"

Of course. Does he not understand my condition? "There are a lot. When I go outside, almost everything is unpleasant. Some things I can bear with to do my job but..." I trailed off, staring at the finger prints left on my glass. "Simon Cowel, the guy you saved yesterday, understands my condition and thanks to that I am able to do my job." I explain further, fiddling with the tips of my gloves.

"I understand. When did you become aware of your mysophobia?" Louis asks and I tense visibly and shrug.

"I don't know."

"Do you have any idea what may have caused it?" 

"I don't know." I know exactly what caused it.

Louis hums and closes his notebook, setting it down on the table. "Harry, do you have a notebook with you?"

I nodded and reached into my bag, first pulling out a cloth that I laid down on the table. I flushed under Louis' gaze and set my notebook down on the cloth, opening it to a marked page. I took out a pen as well.

"Alright, now I want you to write he numbers one through ten. Make sure they're spaced." Louis explained as he rested his elbows on the table.

I did as I was told and labeled the page obediently. I looked back up at him when I was finished. "Out of the things you are reluctant to do, please make the one you're least reluctant to do number one. In other words, ten is an act that you consider impossible and the one with the least amount of effort to do should be number one."

I think for a moment and furrow my eyebrows. Louis speaks again, "For example, touching the door knob of this store with your bare hands. How do you feel about that?"

"Eh-?" I look at him like he has four heads, "m-maybe if I rubbed it with alcohol first but I still wouldn't want to.." I wavered, fiddling with my gloves once against. I can't help it, it's a nervous habit.

"Then put that as number one." Louis says gently and crosses his arm, "It's fine if it takes you a while. I'm not doing anything today." He assured.

I stared down at the blank sheet and began to scribble down a list. When I glanced up at Louis, he finally gave me a warm smile that made my heart fluttered inside of my chest. 

"Are you done?" He asked, holding out his hand, "Please show me."

I ignored his hand and turned the notebook around on the cloth so it was facing him. I watched his expression as he read it and licked my lips nervously.

1\. Touch a doorknob

2\. Let other people touch my things

3\. Buy a book at a bookstore

4\. Hold the straps on a train

5\. Eat at a restaurant 

6\. Shake hands with someone with bare hands

7\. Carry other people's things without disinfecting them

8\. Drink after someone else

9\. Let someone else into my room

10.

Louis looked up at me curiously, "You left number ten blank." He observed and I stayed quiet at I stared at the list. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'll allow you to leave it blank for now. For now, I'm going to have you practice the things on this list, starting at one and going down."

My eyes widened and I blink rapidly at Louis, my heart pounding inside my chest. "W-What?" I cried, my voice going exceptionally high.

Louis just smiled politely, "Have you ever heard of exposure therapy? That's the treatment." The way he looked at me just then...I couldn't explain that way it made my stomach churn. His eyes were darker, pooling with something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I swallowed thickly and looked down.

"Once you get to number ten, you'll be completely cured." Louis smiled and closed his notebook, tucking it back into his bag. 

I frowned to myself and clasped my hands together in my lap, "Louis, I-" I paused, glancing at him and tilting my head, "Why would you go to such trouble to help someone you've just met?" I asked, nibbling on my bottom lip anxiously.

His expression changes instantly and he glances at me, pursing his lips in thought. "Would you believe me if I said I had no reason?" Louis asked, arching an eyebrow at me.

"Not really, no." I mumbled, "I'm a complete stranger, I just don't understand."

Louis chuckles for the first time and the sound melts through me, "I like honest people." His smile quirks at the corner and I swear he's smirking at me. 

"Fine, Harry. I'll tell you my reason when you fill in number ten."


	2. Exposure Therapy?

I'll be cured? It's hard to believe that attempting the things that scare me the most will cure me but when I analyze it, it begins to make sense. Once I complete these tasks, I'll have faced my fears and I'll learn that they're bearable. However, I have a gut feeling that this is going to take a long time because I never plan on touching a door knob. Have you ever seen Contagion? Bacteria travels so fast and spreads quicker than you can blink. This isn't some joke to me and I'm beginning to doubt whether this guy, Louis, is serious about wanting to help me.

I glance up and Louis is staring at me intently with his head tilted and a concerned look on his face. I swallow thickly at the shiver that trembles my spine.

"What is it?" I ask, my voice wavering as I try my hardest to maintain eye contact. I've always done it so easily, it's the professional thing to do, but with Louis, it's different. Staring into his eyes makes my stomach churn and my chest hurt.

"Tomlinson," He murmurs, sticking the tip of his index finger into his coffee and stirring it slowly, "Louis Tomlinson. That's my name." That's an odd way of introducing yourself.

"I haven't formally introduced myself to you yet." He said formally, lifting his hand and sucking the coffee from his finger before sitting up straight. "I am Louis Tomlinson. I work for the Psych-Therapy rehabilitation center. I'm off Thursday, Saturday and Sunday every week unless specified. This isn't my official card but I will give it to you for the time being." He pulls out a small, white card about the size of a license and slides it towards me on the table. 

I stare at it intently; no way am I picking that up after its touched the surface of this table. I can see the smudges on the glass. Louis must notice my discomfort because he chuckles in acknowledgment.

"Ah," Louis hums, "you can throw it away if you'd like, just make sure to copy down my number or something." 

I shake my head in disbelief, "I still don't understand. Why are you doing all of this?" I ask, looking at him with urging eyes and pouted lips.

Louis only rolls his eyes in response and crosses his arms, "We'll run into a lot of obstacles if you continue to question my character. I guess I'll have to gain some level of trust from you before we start your treatment."

I frown to myself. How does he always know exactly what to say to avoid answering a question properly?

"What are you going on about?" I reply nonchalantly, waving my hand in dismissively, "It's not that I don't trust you..." I murmur, glancing up at him and sucking in a breath as our eyes lock. 

"How can you expect me to think you trust me after saying those things? You think I'm suspicious, I can see it in your eyes."

I quickly look away and glare at the smudges on the glass table top. It makes my stomach churn in disgust; the same way Louis' ability to look into my eyes and read me so openly. I hate feeling this vulnerable, especially around him.

"I told you before, have I not? When I agreed to help you, I was not on duty. However, if it would make you feel more comfortable we can continue to meet here instead of at the clinic." He suggests.

I nod in understanding before looking down at my bag. I open up the front and reach inside to collect my wallet.

"How much are the consolation fees?" I ask, glancing up at him curiously.

Louis raises an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair and resting his forearms on the table. "Those are exempt as well, of course."

I shake my head in disbelief, "I-I...How can I accept all of this?" I ask, furrowing my brows together.

"Well," Louis hums, that same smirk from earlier tugging at the corner of his pink lips, "Please become my friend." He says. It isn't a question or a request, he is telling me to be his friend and for that I want to decline but the way his eyes bore into me and that smirk made the base of my spine tingle, I nod weakly.

"O-Okay." I whisper, my eyes wide as he stares at me. Why was he asking such a thing so formally?

"If we are friends, you'll feel more comfortable accepting things from me, right?" Louis asks and I bite down on my bottom lip to hide my smile. This guy is actually ridiculous.

Louis raises an eyebrow, "If you still think I'm suspicious-" I cut Louis off, laughter bubbling past my lips before I can stop it.

"You're ridiculous, you know that r-right?" I stutter, my cheeks flush red as my laughter dies down, "You're actually making it worse; asking to be my friend so formally..." 

Louis smiles and I feel as though this treatment might not be such a bad idea after all. Louis sighs and crosses his arms, looking out the window and watching the pedestrians walk by.

"You're weird, Louis. You're different, like I am," I murmur, watching as he quirks an eyebrow and purses his lips, "so, I accept your request to be my friend." I giggle softly and smile at the way his blue eyes light up and glint in the sun.

"We should be leaving soon." Louis says suddenly, closing his notepad and beginning to tuck his things back into his leather satchel.

I furrow my eyebrows at the sudden dismissal, "U-Uh, okay." I mumble and close my notebook slowly.

"Don't you have to work? You're in your suit, after all." Louis observes before picking up his cup and draining the rest of his coffee.

I shake my head as my cheeks flush, "N-No, my gloves attract attention when I'm wearing regular clothes, so I usually try to wear a suit whenever I'm out."

Louis gives me this intense look, his eyes unfamiliarly cold, "I see." He whispers. He closes his satchel and sets it in his lap. "Do you want to start today?" He asks suddenly.

My eyes widened-he can't be talking about my list?

"W-What?" I stutter nervously.

"Do you want to start that?" Louis asks again, pointing to my notebook. "You're activity number one. There aren't many costumers that come in here, so it won't be a bother if you stand at the door for a while." Louis explains and I nearly smile fondly at him. He really is concerned about me.

After I stay silent for a long while, Louis clears his throat, "How about it?"

"T-Today?" I stammer, swallowing down the bile that has risen in my throat. I think I'm going to be sick. Louis nods, that smirk curling at his lips. 

"C-Can I disinfect first?" I stutter.

"Nope."

I let out a small cry of distress and stare at Louis with wide, pleading eyes. When he makes no move to change his expression or offer me some comforting words I looked down at my gloves. 

Louis says I'll be cured when I get to number ten, yet I'm severely doubting that I'll even get past number one. I frown and tug at the seems of my glove nervously.

"Please...let me think about this-"

Before I even finish my sentence, Louis is shooting out of his chair with a proud smile on his lips, "Okay. I shall go and distract the cashier by paying very slowly. Please use this time to open the door with your bare hand." He says before quickly darting away before I can respond. I stare after him with a twitching brow and open mouth. 

I feel disgust churning at the bottom of my stomach. Even as I walk towards the door and stand in front of it for five minutes, I can't shake the feeling that curls deep in the pit of my stomach. I slowly slide my gloves off, looking down at my chapped skin, dry flakes crusting around red, raw cracks. Louis was right to worry that first day we met. For the first time in forever, I wanted to be cured; to have hands like Louis. His were small and dainty but coarse at the tips. They were beautiful and I was jealous of them. 

I swallow down whatever fear was building and quickly reach out, grasping the door knob and whimpering as the nerve endings in my hand light on fire. I quickly retract my hand and within seconds I'm pushing through, running all the way to the curb of the sidewalk before turning around and staring at the doors with wide eyes. My hand feels disgusting. I can feel the germs and bacteria building and contaminating my skin. I worry even more when I looked down at my chapped hands. The bacteria will get into the cuts and kill me! 

"You did well." I jump at the sudden voice and turn around to see Louis standing behind me, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.

I feel a blush rise onto my cheeks at the praise and look away, "The cashier...she was looking at me funny, right?" I ask quietly.

Louis chuckles quietly and shakes his head, "Nope, you're just thinking too much." He smiles and shrugs as I glance at him from the corner of my eyes. "You did very well, I'm impressed. Now don't wash your hands until you get home."

Louis can see the way my entire body tenses, "I told you that for this therapy you would have to preform 'difficult tasks' in order to beat your fear. Not sanitizing your hands afterwards is apart of the deal."

I understand what he's saying, but it still makes me want to peel the skin off my hands and toss it into a bowl of disinfectant. I must be an open book because again, Louis reads me perfectly.

"You're disgusted." He hums.

"Very..."

"Don't wash your hands, Harry." He says sternly and the way my name rolls off his tongue makes every nerve in my body shiver. "You're not dirty."

"May I wear my gloves?" I almost whimper. Almost.

Louis thinks over this for a minute before nodding slowly, "Since you've just started, I suppose that's alright. However, as we progress you're going to have to get used to taking them off more frequently."

I stare down at my bare hand and my gloved hand and bite my lip so hard I can taste the metallic flavor seeping onto my tongue. I can't wear my glove though, if I wear them with a dirty hand I'll have to trash them immediately...I do have a spare in my bag though so I guess it'll be alright. 

I must be caught up in my own thought cloud because Louis clears his throat, "So we'll meet here next week at 2 pm."

"Okay."

"We'll see if you're ready for number two depending on your progress." And with that, Louis climbs on his bike and begins riding in the direction of the clinic.

As I gather my things and walk home, I can't stop staring at my bare hands and the way it feels to be out in the open air. It's different; it's scary and terrifying but I think it'll all be for the best in the end. When I finally return to my flat and open the door with my gloved hand, I'm so proud that my heart could burst. I resisted the constant urge to scrub my hands raw! At first it was terrible, like every nerve was shooting daggers through my hand but then it got better and I just felt like I need to cleanse. 

I let out a small breath as I close the door behind me and smile to myself. I can do this. I can cure this.

 

I originally thought that this treatment of forcing me to do uncomfortable things would never work, yet I'm beginning to find it progressively easier to open doors with my bare hands. I do it at work sometimes, in the bathroom and in the main entrance. I've even reduced the amount of times I wash my hands everyday.

I'm visiting Dr. Cowell in the hospital and I open the door to his room with out my glove and I've barely noticed! 

"How are you feeling?" I ask as I sit down in the visiting chair beside my boss.

"I never thought a small fracture would affect me this much but I'm doing rather good considering." Dr. Cowell says as he closes the book he was reading in his lap.

"It's good to see you this energetic."

My boss nods and looks down at the leather backing of his book before his eyes dart right into mine, "About the guy who saved me...did he contact you at all?" 

My eyes widened and I clenched my gloves fists beside myself. I totally forgot that I was supposed to be the one repaying Louis for saving my boss' life and he ended up giving me more than I can accept. Boss gives me a weird look and I realize I've been silent for quiet a while, lost in my own train of thought.

"N-Not yet, he hasn't contacted us but I did give him our business card."

Simon frowns in disappointment but lets out a light sigh, "I guess we can't do anything if he doesn't want to contact us. We'll wait for a few more days, though, just to make sure."

"That's a good idea." I mumble quietly, staring at my feet nervously. I hate lying. I start to sweat and my hands get sticky in my gloves and I get the constant urge to rip my gloves off and scrub them down with bleach but I restrain myself and instead grab my work bag before standing up. 

"I'll be off then. Feel better, Boss." I murmur before quickly walking out of the room and striding down the hallway. I'm almost at the elevator when I hear someone call my name.

"Harry! You forgot this, your schedule. I figured it would be an inconvenience if you didn't have it." Boss says and holds it out to me. I notice that he is holding it with a tissue; he's always been so considerate of my disorder that it makes my eyes water.

"I knew you'd be upset if I touched it, so I made sure to use a tissue." Boss whispers gently as I take my schedule from his hand.

"Thank you, Sir." I nod politely before turning towards the open elevator doors and walking inside. I smile at Dr. Cowell before clicking the Lower Level button and waiting in the corner. 

I stare at the planner in my hands and flush red at the thoughts rushing through my head. He could have touched it. He could have picked it up before remembering about my disorder and grabbed a tissue to make sure I wouldn't find out. I rub my clothed thumb over the place where he had been holding it and think back to my list.

2\. Let other people touch my things

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I give full credit to Takarai Rihito for the plot and this is based off of Ten Count. If you have not read it, I suggest you do because it is positively amazing and wonderfully drawn.


End file.
